Saturday, 4 October 2008

Boyo - Les Cahiers de Conversations

Many of Boyo's readers will doubtless have built up their own mental pictures of the man as legendary wit and conversationalist, much of it stemming from Boyo himself.

Without predjudice, I offer this charming eavesdropping, as Boyo and a colleague walked in to start work. Boyo waved merrily to me, and I waved back as he disappeared into the nether reaches of the building.

The colleague - who understandably wishes to remain anonymous - came over to her desk next to mine and said in a pleasant, conversational tone "We were just talking about having a squirrel attached to one's groin. At a children's party..."


Mrs Boyo said...

Try to imagine how bad it was, then treble the intensity of that image.

It was a christening, which I agreed to attend out of anthropological and what I hope will one day be historical interest.

Boyo was attempting to persuade the infant's wary male siblings that he was not a "strange man" by playing football with them and the usual crust of uncles in the back garden.

At this point the ball loped behind a wooden screen, whither Boyo and a child repaired with a small dog in tow.

The dog found a squirrel and attacked it. The child started screaming, and Boyo sought to free the squirming rodent.

The liberated squirrel followed its instincts and ran up Boyo's leg, attaching itself by all means at its disposal to his groin. The dog continued to attack, the child was unappeased.

This touching tableau was concealed by the wooden screen, towards which two dozen guests and parents turned in horror.

All we heard was a child's piteous wails and Boyo yelling "Let go of my knackers, you little bastard!" in Welsh. Which his compatriot Sioba Siencyn was translating aloud. Very aloud.

scarlet-blue said...

Yeah, but . . . was the dog okay?

Gyppo Byard said...

The dog was promoted, I believe.

No Good Boyo said...

If by "promoted" you mean "drop-kicked", then yes.

And the Welsh, for the linguists among you, was "Gad llonydd i ngheiliau, 'r gythraul bach!"

Gyppo Byard said...

Boyo - I cannot be alone in feeling that you owe the world a book entitled 'Welch Made Easy' which would teach Anglophone Midlanders of partly Silurian extraction (such as myself) the linguistic tools with which to avoid the lighting of our holiday homes/caravans by over-enthusiastic Glyndwr-ites.

scarlet-blue said...

I used to go to wild parties at the Sea Lawn Hotel in Ogmore. I like Wales. There isn't a womble called Cardiff though, is there?

Gadjo Dilo said...

I like Wales too, but I couldn't eat a whole one. There should have been a womble called Mumbles.

scarlet-blue said...

Apparently it was 'The Sea Lawns' and I think it's now closed.
Yes, Mumbles would have been a very good womble. Sounds very fluffy and comfy.

Gyppo Byard said...

'Mumbles' - good name for a Womble, bad nickname for a radio presenter.
Ms Blue - I note a certain Womble obsession on your part. Do you dress up as one as well? (I ask purely in a spirit of free inquiry, not for any kinky reasons. Although if you you dressed up as Wendy from Bob the Builder that would be a different matter...)

scarlet-blue said...

Blame Kevin Musgrove for the womble obsession . . . he started talking about kids TV and I became wombled.

Yes, I enjoy dressing up. Disturbingly, the last time I dressed up it was as a kangaroo. And my tail fell off.

No Good Boyo said...

"Welsh Made Easy" would be as realistic a task as "Counting For Malays", I fear.

My advice to Cambro-Brummie caravaneers would be to go to the local bar, buy everyone with sideburns as much ale as they want, then give each of them a can of green paint and the overnight loan of your car. Then go home.

Mumbles is home of the world's most elaborate and violent pub crawl. It will be the location of my presidential summer residence.